Chapter 1 – Driving on Fumes
Crowley drove North in silence, trying not to think and especially not to feel. He stopped only once, south of Glasgow, to add three cases of whisky to his car. Underneath the passenger seat, he saw a bit of felt and pulled out the fedora Aziraphale wore to investigate in Edinburgh. Fresh pain oozed through Crowley like lava. "Oh, screw this!" he shouted at the pain, set the hat on fire, and tossed it to the parking space next to the Bentley. Crowley then continued to load the bottles. Closing the door, he turned and watched the hat smolder, reduced to embers. With a growl, he restored it to its pre-immolated state, picked it up, and strode to the driver's side. With a grunt and more muscle than needed, he threw the hat into the box with the plants and himself into the seat.
The Bentley continued to drive far north of Glasgow, to the middle of Cairngorms National Dark Sky Park. As usual, all security cameras chose the moment the Bentley was in frame to re-buffer their system. It was dark by the time Crowley arrived, but he didn't bother with headlights.
Once in the park, Crowley sat on the ground and started on the second case of whisky, leaning against the Bentley as the engine cooled and ticked itself to sleep. With the absence of light pollution (thus the 'dark sky'), Crowley could see many stars that he couldn't see in London. The last time he had been here was New Year's Eve,1999.
As he opened another bottle, Crowley realized even his stars could not give him peace; they were tainted with the pain of Aziraphale's refusal. Taking a swig, he remembered the day he booted up the Nebula and met Aziraphale. Back then Crowley was naïve. He remembered his glee at the birth of his nebulae. Aziraphale was more savvy; he had tried to warn Crowley about questions. The Fall had hardened him, replacing joy with cynicism, glee with glower, hope with hurt. It hurt to feel.
On Earth, their heavenly demeanors seemed to be reversed. Aziraphale's unbridled delight in Earthly things was pure adrenaline to the angel and made him appear nervous and flighty to humans. Humans saw the demon as an angry cynic who enjoyed bashing people's hopes. So, when Aziraphale found something to enjoy, Crowley tried to drink it in, vicariously enjoying it, feeling he wasn't allowed. His favorite moments were their late-night discussions. Alone, and with alcohol slowing them down, they could focus and debate in a way that wouldn't happen in a busy SoHo day. Crowley took another gulp of the whisky, followed by a second and a third; trying to erase all memories of the angel. As if on cue, a shooting star streaked across the sky. Crowley sighed and climbed back into the car, leaving the door open, continuing to drink.
"He'll be fine", Crowley told himself as he drank. When Aziraphale was not besotted with Earthly things, he was sharp and calculating. For centuries, Crowley had seen that 'bit of a bastard' cleverly fooling archangels ranked far above him. Navigating Heavenly politics, while managing to appear unthreatening – no 'damned-fool questions'. To those who didn't pay attention, Aziraphale appeared to bumble his way into the solution that he wanted all along, usually an improvement on what 'they' wanted. Thwarting through Misadventure – his eyes could twinkle with cleverness, too.
"Yeah, he'll be fine up there". Crowley closed the door and opened another bottle, but he was starting to slow. Without distractions, Aziraphale would have Heaven running like clockwork and without the office politics – he knew how to make everyone think they were getting their way. "I don't have those skills, plus…plus, I was curious – Curiosity sure killed this the cat!" Crowley belched as he talked out loud to himself. "Like a toddler, I asked 'Why?' Too many times." He had questioned the design of the platypus the day before Lucifer was expelled, and Crowley always thought he was ejected as an afterthought, and no other reason.
"I'll go back to the bookstore; he'll be wanting his records, tea, and biscuits sent up in a few weeks. This will be good for me too. My days will be longer- I mean calmer without him." Crowley began plotting to make Gabriel's statue in the Edinburgh graveyard look like Aziraphale, in honor of his new position. He smirked at the idea and held out his bottle in tribute, "can I hear a Wahoo."
About two bottles into the third case, he thought back to their first meeting. He recalled the Angel's genuine friendliness, without the ambition of other angels. When Aziraphale helped the couple out of the Garden, Crowley saw the angel's heart was big enough to include the Human Race. Crowley fell in love with the one being in Creation most capable of love, and then botched it big time; thinking One Fabulous Kiss would persuade the angel to change his beliefs. Crowley remembered the moment during the kiss when all was revealed. He learned how the Angel felt each time he saw Crowley and of his belief in the demon's goodness through the centuries. And finally, Aziraphale's epiphany at the bombed church. Maybe the kiss revealed all Crowley felt to Aziraphale too, and knowing they loved each other would bring him back.
Crowley reached into the wrong box for another bottle and pulled out Aziraphale's hat – He sniffed it- vanilla and beeswax. "Aziraphale", Crowley said, as he held the hat to his face and tried to lie down. Another star shot across the sky. Of course, the heart that had room for the entire human race would try to save them. He wouldn't be Crowley's Angel if he didn't.
At dawn, Crowley woke up, having used Aziraphale's hat as a pillow. It was wet. He heard the sound of a deer chewing the leaves it had picked off the plants in the back seat. It startled and scampered away when Crowley bellowed "Oi!" and sprang up waving Aziraphale's hat.
"Ambrose, are you all right?" Crowley surveyed the plant that had sustained the most damage – a few leaves near the window had been plucked. "You'll lean for a while, but I think you'll recover. Delphine, keep an eye on him".
Crowley had never told anyone he talked to his plants; when exiled from his flat, he took them with him. What he didn't know until living with them in his car, was the plants talked to each other and eventually, to him. Being twice fallen, Crowley realized he had been an ass to the plants and worked to treat them better in the Bentley. He discovered they had names: Ambrose, Delphine, Sonya and Hugo. By the time the little sprout showed up, relations had improved so much that Crowley got to name it – he chose Jemimah.
"That's it, back to the flat we go." The plants began to tremble in fear. "I promise, it will be different. Can't have you out here to be grazed upon." Crowley got a spray bottle out of the boot of the car and misted the plants, cranked the windows closed, and started the Bentley, heading back to London. As the radio began to play "Hammer to Fall", Crowley got sober and started to think. He remembered the glimmer of hope that ripped away when Aziraphale broke from their kiss. That scent of apples that hung in the air was not part of Aziraphales's scent. Crowley thought he knew Who that scent was associated with – "why was God looking in on them? Why did God want them apart?"
"Why did Heaven want us apart?" Crowley couldn't think of a reason. "Rephrase the question- Why are the two of us together seen as a threat?" They'd done things together for centuries…. the episode with Ellspeth cost him a few decades stirring the sulphur pits, but when he slipped away, no one cared. They did a lot of bending the rules during WWII, but the horrors across the globe made their little miracles seem miniscule. " …the little, teeniest of miracles….?! Could that be it? We've never combined on a miracle before and our tiny half-miracle each combined to be the biggest ever- 25 Lazarii?!"
Crowley slapped the steering wheel, feeling he was on the right track. "Heaven didn't want us to know that the forces of good and evil (which they technically were) coming together was the biggest miracle of all. Was Heaven afraid of the power created when 'black and white' turned to 'shades of gray'? Did it happen when Beelzebub and Gabriel came together?" "Was it just me and the Angel, or is it the good/evil mix? Muriel is a class 37 – the least angel I know. If her power with mine set off alarms, I'll know it was the combination of forces. Crowley began to plan how he could test his theory. The song switched to "The Show Must Go On" and the Scottish scenery whizzed by.